


Night Visions

by ScaryScarecrows



Series: The Autumn Effect [11]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Murder, Songfic (Sort of), they'd be adorable if they'd quit terrorizing Gotham at night, villainous relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-06-09 02:36:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6885679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryScarecrows/pseuds/ScaryScarecrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tiptoe

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of fluff written to and (loosely) inspired by Imagine Dragons' Night Visions. 'Radioactive' is not here because it has a story already, located in Phobias. WARNING: I say 'fluff', but their definition of fluff is not always the same as mine. Here there be madpeople.

Three A.M. It was cold outside. It was snowing a little, actually. Gotham was sleeping. The schools were out on Thanksgiving break and there was an influx of tourists, home for the holiday. Of course, there were several vacancies from people gone elsewhere for the holiday.

Jonathan Crane had remained in Gotham. He had nowhere to go and no interest in the holiday anyway. All Thanksgiving was was a gathering of the gluttons, as far as he was concerned.

Right now he was sitting on the roof of their dingy apartment building, watching the stream of traffic and clutching a thermos filled with coffee.

"It's nicer at night." Kitty Richardson leaned against his side. "Quiet."

"Mm."

She reached behind them and pulled a bag of cookies from the backpack. What had possessed them to pack food and come up here was still unknown, but they'd been here for half an hour and the biting chill had slowly faded to a dull numbness.

He took a sip of the coffee and traded her the thermos for the cookies. They'd found some refrigerator cookie dough that afternoon, tucked back behind the carrots. It had been a little past its expiration date, but they hadn't looked off. Seeing as they hadn't died of food poisoning yet, it was probably fine.

"I hope my art teacher suffers a tragedy and can't come back to class."

"Why?"

"She has a statue fetish." Kitty laughed at him. "I'm serious! You haven't seen her. Even Scarecrow agrees with me."

"I suppose it's related to her repressed lust for her father?"

"For the last time, that was for a paper, not my actual opinion."

She nudged his ribs and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I keep hoping my English teacher will die, to be honest."

"Oh?"

"He creeps me out. One girl said he asked her to stay after class and offered her extra credit for…favours."

"Report him."

"He's tenured."

Hm. He'd worry about that later.

He brushed a bit of snow off the hood of his jacket and put the cookies back in the backpack. He was starting to feel a little drowsy, actually. Could be hypothermia…

"Ready to go in?"

"In a few minutes."

She hummed and wound her arms around one of his. Below, the traffic continued in a bright ribbon, blurry in the snow.

THE END


	2. It's Time

"Good evening, Doctor Cristow."

Doctor John Cristow, who had been in the middle of pouring himself a nice drink, dropped the glass on the carpet at the noise.

"How did you get out?"

"Trade secret."

"How did you get in here?"

"Trade secret."

"What do you want?"

The intruders-two of his patients at Arkham-exchanged a _look_ that said, 'What a stupid question.'

"The money's in the safe…"

"We're not here for that. Sit down." He stayed on his feet, unable to move. "I said, **_sit down._** "

He sat down in a chair. His guests took the couch, Richardson making herself comfortable against Crane's side.

"So. John-may I call you John?-we've been exchanging notes. Habit after we leave, you understand. We found something rather interesting this time. Would you like to know what it was?"

Not really. He didn't know exactly what he did to irritate them, and he didn't care. He just wanted to get out of here with his mind intact.

Crane continued anyway, his long fingers tugging at a loose thread on Richardson's sweater.

"You seem to be under the impression that we have a toxic relationship."

Oh.

It was true. No normal couple spent their time tormenting people. They'd have a better chance at being cured if they…separated.

"Um…"

"I don't know where you got the idea that you were a couples' counsellor, John. But you are terrible at it."

He was going to die, wasn't he.

"Really, you are just…"

"Jonathan." He looked over at her. "I don't think he's really processing anything. Look at the poor dear. He's scared out of his wits."

Help. Somebody. Anybody.

BATMAN.

"I don't know, Kitty…maybe we are in a toxic relationship."

"Perhaps."

"Maybe we should… _break up_." The last two words were practically dripping with disdain. "It's not you, it's me."

"No, no, it's me. We're just…we're not good for each other."

"No, I suppose not."

He felt forgotten. Not that that was a bad thing! The longer they talked, the longer he had until Batman showed up.

"Does it really matter?"

"No."

Oh, shit.

"So." Crane turned back to him. "Sorry. We've discussed it, and we've decided to ignore your advice."

Please, Jesus, someone help him.

"In all honesty, we were rather insulted at your presumptions." Help. "Weren't we?"

"Quite."

"Whatever shall we do with him?"

"We _could_ chop off his head and send it to his ex-wife."

"Too messy. Slit his throat and blame Zsasz?"

"Oh, yes, that's _so_ tidy. Batman will know who did it anyway."

"Good point. I suppose, then-since we'll be adding one more body to the count anyway-that we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way."

"I suppose so."

They stood up and he shrank back in his chair. They'd never seemed so…tall…in therapy. Must have been the straitjackets.

"Maybe this will teach you to mind your own business, Doctor."

He hadn't got a prayer.

THE END


	3. Demons

His hands are shaking and his stomach is queasy. Not again…he promised himself Scarecrow wouldn't get out again.

Promises, promises. They did nothing, and now there is a murder dressed up as a suicide. It's convincing-he'll be fine, he's smarter than the police-but…Jesus…Scarecrow…

He vomits again, choking on bile. He's tired and scared that Scarecrow's done something else he doesn't know about. He can't think of any missing blocks of time, but it's exam time and…

He'll have to tell Kitty. This isn't something he can keep from her, much as he'd like to. She'll find out anyway, like she did with the birds.

"Kitty?"

"God, you look awful."

He feels awful. His lips are cracked and his stomach won't stay still.

"I…"

"Do you have the flu?"

"No." He takes a deep breath. "Scarecrow…he got out again."

"What do you mean?"

"That professor…Scarecrow…"

"Oh, my god."

**_Don't you dare let her call the cops._ **

_What am I supposed to do?_

**_Shut her up._ **

_NO._

**_Oh, NOW you grow a spine._ **

_I mean it, Scarecrow._

"What exactly happened?"

"I don't remember everything…we were talking, and then Scarecrow…he's dead."

If she has any sense at all, she'll call the police. If _he_ has any sense whatsoever, he'd go to the police station of his own accord.

"Does anyone know you went to see him?"

Oh, boy. That doesn't sound good.

"I don't think so…"

"Did you at least try to make it look like an accident?"

"Suicide…"

"Well, then."

She's crazier than he is.

"Kitty?"

"I can't say he didn't deserve it." She beckons him over. "And if Scarecrow was going to kill me by now, he'd have tried. Probably gotten his head smacked in for his efforts-sorry, love-but still."

"You don't know that."

"Do you?"

**_Yes._ **

_You promised never again._

**_That was you, not me._ **

"I suppose."

"Well, then." She kisses his nose. "You've got a spot of blood on your forehead."

"But…"

She shakes her head and rubs at a spot on his forehead. She's insane. Or a complete idiot. Or _both_.

"I'm rather touched, really."

Touched in the head!

**_D'aww. Birds of a feather._ **

"Kitty, I don't know that he'll stay in. What if he goes after you next time?"

**_Hey!_ **

"Never mind about Scarecrow." she says. "We have an alibi to construct."

THE END


	4. On Top of the World

Gotham, like other cities, does fireworks for New Year's. The best place to watch them is the pier.

Said fireworks are going off right now, and as per tradition, there is a couple kissing on the pier. Adorable. Normal.

Until one takes note of the _other_ people on the pier, who are in varying states of panic. At least one dove into the water, and a few others are rolling on the ground, trying to kill each other.

Batman wonders, sometimes, why they come out at all. Can't they stay home and watch movies, instead of coming out, being annoyed by their fellow humans, and inflicting chaos?

Of course not.

"Come on."

"To be fair, we did not plan this."

"They were talking too much."

"We're allowed to have Date Night too, you know."

Then why can't they stay home? Or go somewhere with less people, like the cemetery?

"Back to Arkham."

They don't argue. They grumble a little when he cuffs their hands behind their backs, but that's all.

Hopefully next year they'll stay in and watch Dick Clark or something.

THE END


	5. Amsterdam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know Crane is a bit of a mysophobe. (You may know it as germaphobe.) He's probably read all sorts of 'bedbugs in hotel room' stories.
> 
> Also, just for grins, I made a Polyvore. What can I say, I like making costumes for my characters. It's over here: http://scaryscarecrows.polyvore.com/

Jonathan looks around the room, taking in the ugly green-and-brown décor, the cheap furniture, and the lovely view of the parking lot.

He hates business trips. They're boring. The flights are always miserable and the meetings are run by idiots. Can't they be conducted over the phone? Would that be so terrible? Oh, he forgot, they have to have someone to pawn the stale donuts onto.

He does a quick sweep for bedbugs-hey, it's happened-before pulling the comforter off one of the beds and dropping it on the floor. There. In a few minutes he'll take a shower and go to bed. But first, he has a phone call to make.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Kitty."

"How was your flight?"

"There was a screaming baby, some old woman that fell asleep on me and drooled, and a group of rowdy teenagers."

"How nice."

He takes his glasses off and rubs the bridge of his nose. He doesn't want to be in this cheap hotel.

"Anything happen today?"

"One of the new nurses got a clump of hair pulled out. I told her not to go near Mr. Noll, but…" He imagines her shaking her head. "Idiot. I told her she'd be out of a job next time."

"Good."

"I'm gonna hang up, make sure the doors are locked. They're looking for the tally man. You know, the serial killer with all the scars?"

He knows the name…something weird, with a Z maybe?

"You do that. See you Friday."

"Sleep tight, love."

"You, too."

He hangs up and makes himself get up to take a shower.

* * *

He can't sleep. It's not raining, that could be part of the problem. And he never has slept well in hotels.

What time is…midnight. God, he's got to get some sleep…

Why is his phone lit up? He rolls over to pick it up-ow. Bright. So bright-and shakes his head.

_I can't sleep._

_Neither can I._

_This is terrible._

_I am well aware of the fact._

_I hate everyone._

_At least you get to be in a nice, clean room. I don't know about this one._

_You tell them that I am displeased with this arrangement._

_I don't know that anyone likes it._

_I don't care about them. I care about myself. And I don't like it._

_So I noticed._

He yawns and stretches out on the hard mattress.

_I'm gonna try to go to sleep. You should too. See you Friday._

_See you Friday._

* * *

Gotham's airport is big, crowded, and an absolute nightmare to navigate.

He's thrilled to be in it.

He rescues his suitcase from the carousel and hopes that Kitty wasn't held up in traffic.

CRASH!

No. She was not. God, she didn't run over any pedestrians, did she?

"Hi, Kitty."

"Never leave me again."

"I was gone for two days."

"It was horrible."

"Two days."

"But it was horrible. I had to deal with parents, Jonathan. _Parents._ "

"You're better at dealing with parents than me."

"Don't argue semantics."

He pats her shoulder and reaches down to pick up his suitcase. It really is good to be home.

THE END


	6. Hear Me

He doesn't like being in Arkham. The food is terrible, the doctors are idiots, and he hates most of his fellow inmates.

Fine. Some days he hates _all_ of his fellow inmates. Special mention goes to the Joker, who apparently suffers from sigaophobia.*

He likes Arkham even less when he's trying to sleep. Edward talks in his sleep, Jervis snores, and the Joker giggles. And, more annoyingly, he's by himself.

At risk of sounding like a sap-which he is most certainly not-he hasn't had to sleep by himself since he was seventeen. Never mind that he didn't appreciate it when he was seventeen. (Honestly, why did she have to lay on him? Really?)

But he has found a way around this. Naps. In the common room.

The staff is idiotic. They really shouldn't let them in a room together. But they let Harley and the Joker in a room together, too, despite the multiple deaths. Maybe it's just easier. He doesn't particularly care.

Sleep. At last.

THE END

* Fear of silence. You know those people that keep talking long after it's become awkward? Yeah.


	7. Every Night

They have been in Gotham for six days, fifteen hours and thirty-two minutes and have yet to cook anything. There was that little disaster with the ramen, but that was all. Now, though, they've eaten at every delivery place that looks safe, and it's dinner time.

It is decided that they'll try spaghetti. How hard can it be? It's just pasta and water and sauce, and the sauce is premade.

They. Will. Succeed.

The water is boiling, the pasta is measured, and all that remains is to open the jar. And therein lies their problem.

The jar is stuck. It's been superglued shut, it has to have been.

He doesn't believe her at first. She just isn't strong enough, that's all.

"Just give it here."

"If I can't get it, you can't get it."

"We'll see about that."

She shrugs and hands it over. He'll get it off, all right, in just one…more…minute…

"Pass me a rubber band."

She's smirking now. Humph. He'll get it off if it takes him all night, just to spite her.

The rubber band only chafes his skin and he sticks the lid under hot water.

That doesn't work, either. Hm. Okay, he'll try tapping it against the counter. Maybe it just needs to be knocked back into its groove or…something.

DAMMIT!

"I told you it was stuck."

Not for long. Now it's personal.

Ten minutes later, he has a sore hand, but the lid's off. Ha. He knew she just wasn't strong enough.

"My hero."

"Ow."

She's dumped the spaghetti in and it's starting to bubble over. Oh, well. It'll be fine. It's just water.

The sauce says to heat on low. Well, that won't be possible. The spaghetti is already mostly done. He'll just watch it very closely so it doesn't explode or anything.

"This wasn't so bad."

"No, it wasn't."

There's a sudden POP! from the stove, followed by a wet SMACK!

They look up.

The ceiling is now adorned with red splotches of sauce.

"How about pizza again?"

THE END


	8. Bleeding Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suspect the actual song is about suicide (although I could just be morbid), but…they wouldn't let me.

He can't breathe. This is worse than waiting to see if he passed that art class! Why do people seek this sort of thing out on purpose?

Okay. Deep breaths. Act natural. Everything's going to be fine.

"Kitty?"

"Yes, love?" She pulls her hair through a scrunchie and reaches back for a clip. "You sound nervous."

He does?

**_You are nervous._ **

_Quit reminding me._

**_I'm just pointing it out._ **

_It's annoying. Stop it._

"Um…"

**_Spit it out._ **

_Shut up._

**_Don't make me take over._ **

"Spit it out, love."

"Spit what out?"

"That's what I'd like to know."

He takes a deep breath. Sound casual. This isn't that complicated.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything. Granny, and…yeah. I didn't…I didn't expect anything like…like this."

She finishes putting in her earrings and twists around.

"Jonathan, are you feeling all right?"

"I love you."

" _That's_ what you were worried about?" She shakes her head at him. "I know that, silly goose. I love you, too."

Oh, boy. He just needs to lie down for a while. Stress is exhausting.

THE END


	9. Underdog

"Kitty?" She moves a bit, mumbling something about having been half asleep. "Kitty."

"When did you take massage lessons."

"I didn't. This is what you do to me, so…"

"Oh my god, I didn't realise I was that good."

She'd fallen off a stepladder-how she'd managed that was a mystery to him-and let it get stiff. So this evening, when she really couldn't move and wouldn't shut up about it, he'd volunteered to rub the kinks out.

Scarecrow, unsurprisingly, had promptly taken note of all the squirming and offered a few…alternate…ideas. After a brief but furious mental row, the straw man had retreated, grumbling about a boring alter and wondering if the Joker had an opening for an extra personality.

"I love you."

"I know." He came across a mole he didn't remember and wondered if it looked abnormal. He was pretty sure it didn't, but…he'd keep an eye on it. Just in case. "Why."

"Why wha'."

"Why me?"

"Don't sound so self-pitying, love. It…Jesus, _right_ there…it doesn't suit you."

"I'm serious!"

She shrugged.

"You're smart, and you don't treat me like the Joker treats Harley."

He laughed at her.

"That's called 'low standards' if I'm not very much mistaken."

"Still." She moaned and stretched out. "I thought you were kind of pathetic at first, actually."

"Hey!"

"In a good way! Like a kicked puppy."

Oh, that was so much better. Really.

"Thanks, Kitty."

"And then you were so…innocent and fun to corrupt."

"Oh, yes, because I didn't commit those two murders."

"Apart from that…oh, god, just a little lower."

Lower? Any lower and he'd…oh, never mind.

"Why'd you glom onto me, though? You had your pick."

"I like a challenge. Besides, you had _manners_. I could trust you not to drug my drink."

He shook his head again.

**_You should tell her about those dreams you were having._ **

_Shut up._

**_What? It's been long enough now._ **

_No. Besides, those were your fault._

**_How were they my fault?_ **

_Everything is your fault._

**_You can blame your hormones for those, Jonny-boy._ **

_Yes, but you're easier._

"Harder."

**_WHAT._ **

"E-excuse me?"

"You heard me. Harder. Right there."

_Now look what you've done._

**_To be fair, she's said those words in other situations._ **

_SHUT UP._

"You scared me at first, you know."

"I did?"

"You have to realize that I hadn't been hugged that much in my entire life, and then you came along and used me as a teddy bear."

"It didn't hurt you."

"Still."

She yawned. He took his hands off her and she promptly reached back, grabbed one, and stuck it on her shoulder.

"Don't stop."

THE END


	10. Nothing Left to Say/Rocks

The Batman will be here in a few minutes. He always is. Jonathan's a little surprised he wasn't here earlier. Oh, well. Something else to mock him with next time.

They had plenty of time to leave, but it's getting cold out and they don't have their flu shots. It's time to go in, for a check-up and a few weeks of R&R.

"He's late."

"I know."

One of the few survivors groans and earns herself a vicious **_THWACK!_** with a folding chair.

"What was that for?"

"I have a headache."

She's not the only one. It's cold out here and he's probably a little dehydrated. It's been a busy evening. Not bad, for a spur-of-the-moment thing.

There's a low **_VROOM_** a few blocks away. Good. Another few minutes and they can go back to Arkham and its working heater. Besides, he's had a stiff neck for the past few nights, ever since a subject got out of the restraints and attacked him. Could be whiplash.

It's starting to snow. Jonathan surveys the mayhem and thinks that this really was a good nights' work. They should do this sort of thing more often. It's not healthy to be cooped up all the time.

Kitty leans against him and slips her hands inside his shirt. COLD! What'd she do that for? Is she trying to give him hypothermia?

"Kitty!"

"My hands are cold!"

"My ribs are cold!"

"They feel warm to me."

Well, that's all very nice, but her hands are _freezing!_ Doesn't that coat have pockets?

"Is that really necessary?"

"Yes."

Of course it is. Because she can't just use her pockets, oh no. Maybe he should get some sort of hand-warming things…oh, who is he kidding? She won't use them. That's what she has him for.

"Let's not stay too long this time."

"Why not?"

"Because my parents said that either we go down there for Christmas, or we come up here."

Oh. Oh, god, no.

"Okay."

"Yeah. I tried to talk them out of it, but…"

"No, no, it's…it's fine."

"Mm."

Now that he thinks about it, Christmas dinner will probably include apple pie.

They have to get out of Arkham as soon as possible.

A big, black tank pulls up a few feet away and he puts his hands up.

"Evening, Batman!" he calls. "Sorry for the chaos, but you're not in the phone book."

"What do you want, Crane."

"A lift home?"

After taking their gas masks, their toxin, and Kitty's emergency nail file, he cuffs them and throws them in the back seat. Ahh. Heat.

It'll take some time to get there, even with Batman's crazy driving, and he makes himself comfortable against the window. A few minutes later, Kitty makes herself comfortable against him.

They're asleep by the time Batman reaches Arkham.

THE END


End file.
